


lazy Sunday afternoon

by clytemnestras



Series: fem feb 2021 [6]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2021, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29238360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: But it's different, much harder to forget a body being a body when it's not just a wide-handed guy she half remembers from highschool, his beard rough against her cheeks. When it's smaller, careful hands that had used her in 9th grade to learn palmistry off, following her loveline down to the wrist where her pulse pounded against the fingertips.
Relationships: Stevie Budd/Twyla Sands
Series: fem feb 2021 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132580
Comments: 13
Kudos: 12
Collections: femslash february music fest





	lazy Sunday afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt at [the femslash february music fest:](https://elasticella.dreamwidth.org/38276.html)
> 
> Does my memory linger  
> And flood the room for you  
> Like when I’m alone and I’ve thought of you  
> -Corinne Bailey Rae's Do You Ever Think Of Me

It's not like she ever tries to consciously recall the blur of bodies in Jake's apartment, the lights turned low and candles flickering on each surface. There's a reason Stevie always shows up with a half-full bottle of pinot, the other half already in her blood and blurring the room just enough so she doesn't have to think about what it is she's doing.

(What she's doing is peeling off her flannel shirt, the vest underneath it, back arched and knowing. What she's doing is beckoning a hand, a body over to her, _here, look, touch me_.)

But it's different, much harder to forget a body being a body when it's not just a wide-handed guy she half remembers from highschool, his beard rough against her cheeks. When it's smaller, careful hands that had used her in 9th grade to learn palmistry off, following her loveline down to the wrist where her pulse pounded against the fingertips.

Twyla caught her eye the second she dropped the wine onto Jake's bedside table, already stripped to a black bra and skirt slip, something so smooth and cheek-blush pink it couldn't be anyone's but Alexis's. She'd smiled, waved, entirely unself-conscious, entirely herself even mid-swinger's party, three little beaded braids in her wavy hair like the eccentric best friend in a 90s movie.

Stevie's face was the same colour as the bedspread, maroon, a colour she might have idly considered sexy until it was splashed across her own cheeks. She'd felt like she'd been caught, somehow, rather than just sharing an experience, an anecdote to lord over David in three years time when she could finally admit it to herself.

"Hey Twy," she'd said, just to say something. "You look smokin'," she'd said, strongly considering bashing her skull open on Jake's grey walls.

Twyla had twirled for her with a bright smile and then leant in, her fingers teasing the scalloped edge of Stevie's bra, the good one, the black push up she'd bought to send teasing pictures to Emir the last time she got high whilst online shopping. It had been an embarrassing package to open, after all that, but she had found the right level of _fuck it_ that evening to be brave when Jake's text had come.

"You look pretty smokin' yourself," Twyla whispered, a smile tangled around the words. It didn't sound stupid in her mouth. It sounded, god help her, like a come on.

If Stevie squints enough, the newly painted honeymoon suit, only barely dusklit, the curtains pulled most of the way shut, could almost match the gloom of Jake's place.

If she dulls her senses enough, the callous on her right pointer finger, bourne from scrubbing out best-not-thought-about towel stains and pressing the backspace key too often could almost be the rough edge of Twyla's, blistered from one too many slips against hot pans, the perfect kind of coarse when it had brushed against her clit.

She can't quite get a grip on when they moved from awkwardly smiling at each other in their underwear to Stevie's back being pressed into the wall, her fingers messing up Twyla's hair, and Twyla's hands, a little rough and a little less careful than she might have imagined just messing up Stevie in general. And maybe that's because of the pinot, or because of the liminal space that is Jake's House Of Orgies, or just because Stevie likes sex better when her body takes over, buzzing and sensitive, leaping from sensation to sensation with no room for thought. But it had been her there, and Twyla there, bodies pressed tightly together, everyone else in the room too wrapped up on their own debauchery to pay them any mind.

Stevie didn't have time to panic, or to think about how awful it would to be in the morning when Twyla slung her usual black coffee two sugars and a raisin croissant across the counter and smiled like everything was normal, and Stevie wouldn't be able to look her in the eye without feeling faintly queasy. It was just her and the feel of Twyla's mouth on her neck, the gentle way her tongue had teased against Stevie's own, slipping past the seam of her lips and the last of her highly stacked walls. Twyla's hands, firm as they pressed her back against the wall, stroking under the soft cups of her bra. Twyla's solid musculature under her own hands, firm from spending all day on her feet.

Her chest feels suffocatingly warm when she picks up her cell and scrolls up to _#1 Highschool Crush,_ the name Twyla herself had put in when they got to talking about _Garbage_ whilst smoking up after one of the Schitt's barbecues three years ago and she never changed back.

Which, actually, as ideas go is not a bad one.

 _Hey_ , she texts, bile rising in her throat. _shitty day, wanna smoke up & make out w me like in highschool? _

It doesn't take long for her to text back, not long enough for Stevie to get too stuck into the memories, the two of them in the bed of Mutt's truck, shotgunning whilst he chopped wood shirtless for Twyla's attention.

_Shift ends at 8, come pick me up x_

Stevie feels less sick and twice as hot, ducking into the bathroom for the aluminium free deodorant David had hooked them up with. She pulls up her shirt for a second just to check - decent bra, not the satin-soft one of the party, but a white and red gingham that she thinks Twyla will like. _You match the tablecloths,_ she'll say, and laugh, even as her cunning little fingers are unhooking it.

Stevie stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, hair mussed and eyeliner drawn just a little too thick on the lower lashline, a little bit rough and entirely too ready.

 _I'll be waiting_ , she texts back, her smile a little too hungry, squeezing her thighs together as she gets back to cleaning the room.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr! [@bohemicns](http://www.bohemicns.tumblr.com), let's chat!


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